


Dallas and little Demi

by crazy_lion



Category: Demi Lovato - Fandom
Genre: Dallas protective towards Demi, Dianna thinks Patrick loves her even if he hits her (I talk about that to say it's wrong!), Drama, F/M, Fear, Sad, cries, great relationship mother/daughters, mention of post partum depression, references to physical abuse (hitting), special bond between sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 23:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy_lion/pseuds/crazy_lion
Summary: In the "Simply Complicated" documentary, Dallas says she's always been protective towards Demi growing up. Considering the situation they had to live through, and having listened to Demetria and Dianna talking, and having read her book, I wanted to write this little piece describing an episode that might as well have happened. Demi's four months old, and during a fight between their parents, Dallas runs to their room to calm her sister down. Meanwhile, as Patrick leaves, Dianna is torn between the fear and the love she feels for him, a sentiment that she still doesn't realize changed into something dangerously wrong ever since the episodes of violence have started. What's going to happen?Disclaimer: Through this piece of writing, published without any lucrative aim, I have no intention to give a thruthful representation of this person's nature, nor offend her in any way. It is not only valid for Demi, but also for all the other famous people I actually mentioned.





	Dallas and little Demi

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the Italian version of this story and you can find it on www.efpfanfic.net where I'mm crazy lion. I translated it into English with the help of a friend, we always do this together with my stories.

**Dallas and little Demi**

Dallas was in her room when her parents started fighting. It wasn't anything new, it happened pretty often, and she suffered every time. Dad would come back home drunk or high, screaming and throwing things or took it out on mom, who always tried to calm him down, even though she never made it because she was too scared. Sometimes they even fought during the day. Every time, and secretly, of course, she cried, especially at night, alone in her bed, because she couldn't understand why or how Dad could be nice one minute and evil the next. She heard something break, probably a glass he had broken, but, she thought, she had to try not to cry, at least during the day and she did so for a simple reason: Demi was born, and ever since then she felt a strong sense of protection towards her. She never even realized, it was completely instinctual. All she knew was that she was the older sister and the little one was small and fragile, and not only needed her parents but her as well, especially in terrible moments like those. She had to go see how she was. But what if her dad heard her, rushed upstairs and smacked her? There was no way anyone could tell what he was capable of in those moments. Despite that, she still had to try.

"For Demi," she told herself. "For her."

Shaking, she took off her slippers and picked them up, then tiptoed to the door and opened it as slowly as she could just so that no one would hear her. Dad never really hurt her, but she feared that if she made any noise he would have got mad. She walked out, and the first thing she heard was Demi's desperate cry. She was asleep, but now, probably because of that whole ruckus she had woken up. That high pitched noise didn't bother her, but instead gave her a strange feeling in her chest, as if someone was crushing it. As calmly and quietly as ever, she walked to her parents' room. The screaming, fighting and the crash of what seemed like a broken plate, a slammed door, her mother's pleads which shook her to the core of her being, all while she felt like an icy, ghostly hand was running down her back making her shudder.

"I have to go on," she imposed on herself. "She's in there, all alone, she's scared and doesn't have anyone.”

She tried not to listen to her parents' words, otherwise she would have stayed there just to figure out what they were fighting over that time. Now they had chosen another room, she didn't get which one, and hearing them would have been more difficult anyway. Even though she went to kindergarten, played and did everything a kid normally does, Dallas was really mature for her age. At just four years of age she had thoughts like those, thoughts that a child growing in a happy family never had. She walked the last couple of meters without worrying about the noise at all. She just couldn't get there a moment sooner. She walked in and literally dashed towards her sister's crib, finding her screaming so loud she was left breathless for a moment. She had locked the door for safety, just like her mom had taught her.

"Open up if you ever need me, but if he gets mad, lock yourself in, either with Demi or when you're alone in your room," she had told her. "I'll come to you and you will open the door, but don't worry, I'll make sure you can hear me."

Initially, the little one struggled to do that and got really scared, especially because one of those times Demi was with her, but her mom had told her how to do it many more times from outside, until she had no more problems doing that.

Patrick was gone. He had walked out that door and wouldn't have come back for a long time. Dianna breathed a sigh of relief.

_At least he didn't do anything to me, _she thought.

He hadn't smacked her, ridiculed her, told her she never did enough or called her stupid as usual, but despite that, he shouted at her, loudly but not too much, just to avoid alarming anyone. They had spent long, neverending minutes screaming and accusing each other of their past mistakes. She had not cried. She _never _did. She would have _never _given him that satisfaction. But now, alone in the living room, she slumped on the carpet as a single tear streamed down her cheek. She quickly dried it. She couldn't afford anything more than that. He made her suffer, but gave her everything, and they even had two wonderful little girls together, and despite all the psychological and sometimes physical pain he put her through, God, she loved him so much! And he felt the same, she was sure of it, it had to be like that. It was, sure, but only according to the distorted idea they had of love, because if he had lots of problems, she was manipulated by her own husband. In spite of it all, she still hadn't figured it out, still hadn't pieced it together, and still hadn't realized it was time for her to leave him, because the situation could have only worsened from that point on. She still thought she could change him, believed that things could turn out for the better.

"It's fine," she said. "Everything's fine."

She went to the bathroom and washed her face. She still bore a red sign of a rather violent slap from the day before, so violent she had literally fallen to the floor. Demi was crying, and he wanted to sleep through a hangover and got mad. She had tried to calm him down, just as she did when he shouted or threw stuff, but that time, things didn't work so well.

She walked upstairs and found Dallas and Demi in her room. The little one was in her crib, the other kept her hands on that tiny little bed as if to try and protect her.

"It's okay, Demi. We're okay," she was telling her. "He won't hurts us or mom, I promise. And if he does I protect you, promise.”

Dallas knew her dad often came home and started shouting and throwing things, and that a few months before, when her mom wasn’t pregnant yet, slammed a door so hard he cut off two of her fingers, her pinkie and her ring finger. The first one was salvaged, while the other had part of it missing, but she didn't want to scare her little sister. She was so little! And, even if she probably didn't remember any of it, she had seen her father behave like that more than once. That was the reason why Dallas stood by her side during those episodes. She never really thought of the real motivation behind it, but in all honesty, as Dianna didn't fail to notice, she was really protective towards Demi. And things wouldn't have changed in the future.

"I'm here, girls," she said as she walked in.

She tried to appear calm, no sign of emotion on her face.

"W-Where's dad?" Dallas asked, her voice shrill from fear.

"He's gone for now. I'm fine, everything's fine. Don't tell anyone, alright?"

"Yes," she whispered, thinking her mother always reminded her of that.

Dallas couldn't understand. All the mothers of her friends from kindergarten seemed way happier than hers, and their husbands didn't look like her father at all. But maybe all of that was normal in her family. If that was the case, then why was her mom so sad?

"Are you okay?"

"Demi is, I was with her the whole time."

"I also want to know how _you _are, love. You're my daughter as much as she is," the woman said sweetly.

"I'm fine, mom," she answered.

They never talked about their fears, why should they start now?

Dianna looked her daughters in the eyes. The first one looked confused but seemed fine, while the other had a stare so innocent and rid of pain and sadness that Dianna almost cried. It was obvious for things to be like that, Demi was just four months old, and her mother was glad she couldn't really understand what her father was doing. Dallas did, of course, but those were things mother and daughter never talked about. Dianna had grown up in an environment where no one ever engaged in deep conversation, and everyone had metaphorical, tightly closed doors right under their skin, and the same went for the two of them. Things wouldn't have changed as Demi grew up.

"What about you? Not saying anything?" Dianna asked Demi.

The little one kept looking around as if she had never seen that room before. Maybe the pink curtains somehow attracted her, or the afternoon sun that streamed in through the open window, or the birdsong they could hear despite living in a big, busy city like Los Angeles. She was usually pretty talkative, but now slid into silence. She had just woken up, a little bit before Pat started screaming like a lunatic, and cried. Dianna had heard her, and her heart broke when she couldn't get to her.

"Thanks for calming her while I... wasn't there," she said to Dallas, thinking that little girl was growing up too fast.

After all, she was just four years old.

Dallas nodded, smiled and then asked:

"Can I go play in the living room?"

Who knew, maybe playing would have helped her forget the shouting for a while.

"Of course. We'll be with you soon.”

Dianna hugged her tight and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then released her and watched her dash away. She liked being with her sister, but she was a little girl, and it was right for her to behave as such.

Alone with Demi, Dianna snapped her fingers a couple times, until the little one grabbed her middle finger, exclaiming:

"Ah!"

and smiling.

"You're strong, you know? I can't break free!" Dianna exclaimed, pretending to be stuck in her grasp.

"Mmm, mmm."

That wasn't wailing, and sounded more like some sort of speech.

"What is it?"

The little girl started to roll over, and after a few tries and a lot of effort, she managed to lie flat on her stomach, then looked at her mother.

"Oh, I know you're a good girl!" the woman said, clapping her hands. "Let's go get changed, okay?"

She scooped her up in her arms and brought her to the downstairs bathroom. Demi didn't stay still during the change. What child ever does that? She didn't anything but complain and move her hands, raise her legs and scream her own head off.

"Good Lord, it's not like I'm going to kill you."

Dianna could never take it when the baby started behaving like that. She knew it was normal, but she really couldn't bear it. And then, it happened. She imagined Demi falling off the changing table, bang her head and then break it open, dying, and then holding her in her arms, only for that whole scenario to play out in her mind again and again. A cold shudder ran through her, and she had to literally keep herself from screaming. She had done that in the past, just so she could let everything out, but Dallas was home, and she would have freaked out.

Dianna scoffed. She was tired, and many dark thoughts filled her mind.

"I can't do this," she whispered, cradling a now crying baby Demi.

She went to the living room and sat on the couch with the baby in her arms, watching Dallas play. She gave Demi a few rattles she had bought months before. The little one started holding them with both hands, taking them to her mouth to explore their texture and dropping them on the couch only to pick them up again. Children love that kind of noise, and she wasn't any different from the rest of them. She cried when one of them fell to the floor, balling her tiny fists in rage, but Dianna was quick enough to pick it up.

"Put the wooden blocks away if you're not playing with them anymore," she told Dallas, in a tone that was probably too harsh.

The little girl was now having fun with a doll that had fake ice skates on, and made her skid across the floor as if it was made of real ice.

"Look, mommy," said the little girl, a dreamy look in her eyes. “She's a skater, beautiful and wonderful. She has two parents, and her dad loves her and her mom so much.”

She winced upon hearing her mother talk to her like that: it wasn't the first time, and it happened way more frequently ever since Demi was born, but she didn't like it, and those reactions genuinely scared her. "I'll play with them again in a while," she tried to tell her, almost whispering.

"It doesn't matter!" the woman shouted, putting her foot down.

Right then and there, both of her little girls started crying desperately, amd Dianna felt like absolute shit. Why did she fly off the handle like that? Why did she do that, and why did she lose her temper so often? She was probably just tired. She had no idea what post partum depression was, she had never even heard of it, but that was the real reason behind it all. Despite everything, she would have only figured it out years later.

"Oh, babies, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I don't even know what came over me, I didn't want to tell anyone of you off, I..."

She was quick to understand that her daughters needed facts and not words, even now that she was so agitated she couldn't speak a word. If she had kept going, things would have only taken a turn for the worse. She beckoned Dallas closer.

"No," the little one cried. "I don't want to!"

It was then that she chose to take the first step, with baby Demi still in her arms: she sat beside her on the carpet and the two of them kept staring at each other, while Demetria stretched out her hands and touched the blocks with which her sister had been playing. She tried to grab them, it seemed like she wanted to do that with everything, and that was normal at her age, but she didn't make it.

"Dallas, look at me." When the little girl met her gaze, Dianna kept talking. "I'm sorry I shouted at you like that."

"A-Always,” the little one murmured in between shaky breaths, while she wiped at her tears with her hands.

"Yes, I know that always happens, or if not, often, but that's not right. You're a good little girl, and I love you. Will you forgive me?"

It would have been hard to tell her about those horrible mental images she had had before, or that sometimes her mind wasn't clear. She had tried to tell her everything using words that were appropriate for her age.

Her mom was really sweet. Dallas smiled, leaned against her, and then hugged her with all her might.

"Me too, mommy. Me too. I forgive you."

"Mmmm, ah, ah!" Demi tried, smiling.

"I think she's trying to say what you said," the woman whispered. "My little girls!"

They were the only and best thing she had ever done in her life, her only reason for living.

They all sat on the couch and kept cuddling each other until it was time for supper.

Demetria stretched out to stroke her sister's face and hair, and sometimes even pulled them, but she didn't bat an eye, because she knew she had a little sister and her mum had told her that it was normal for her to behave like that.

"No, Demi," she told her, freeing her hair from her hands and opening them slowly.

"You were telling me about your doll," the woman continued. "What's her name?"

She got emotional at her daughter's deep speech. She suffered too, but now she was smiling, and everything was okay again.

"Katy."

"That's a nice name."

Holding her daughters close to her heart, Dianna thought Dallas and little Demi were the only light that shined upon the darkness of her life. Unlucky for her, though, it would have taken her years to understand that her husband's abuse wasn't love, and that their love, the real one, had been over for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
1\. An important note: just as I wrote, to avoid giving the wrong idea and glorifiying such themes, because I would never do that, the love that Dianna feels for Patrick is wrong and it can't be called love, because even if they were happy and in love for a long time, she still loves a man who hurt her. She writes that in different words in her book "Falling with Wings: A Mother's Story": she's convinced she loves him despite everything. I really don't think he was a bad person, but I feel like he wanted to have a family and couldn't keep it together because of his problems. Anyway, that of course doesn't justify what he did.  
Please, I can't imagine how hard it must be, but find the courage to speak if someone hurts you. Someone who hurts you physically, psychologically or sexually doesn't love you and you deserve better. You deserve to be happy, and with people like those by your side, you will never be.  
2\. As a kid, Demi lived in Albuquerque, Texas and LA, but in all of my stories, I always wrote that she went to Los Angeles when she was really young to make it easier for myself. Being blind, it's not always easy for me to describe environments, and since I also talk about Andrew, an original character of mine in other stories, who's friends with the Demi in these fanfictions, and who lives in Los Angeles, I felt like making stuff up a bit. I have to admit it wasn't an easy choice, given my obsession for realism.  
3\. It's true. Patrick was really violent with Dianna. He ridiculed her more than anything, and I don't think he touched her that much, or at least that's not written in her book (the woman also says that her and his friends called him Pat). Anyway, even if they were happy for a long time, at some point, he changed. Demi and Dianna said his mental problems made him like that, and in her book Dianna wrote that he never wanted to work on his alcoholism, even if she brought him to a meeting to try and stop drinking. Additionally, as many of you know, he used drugs. The reasons why he did that were more than one, with the most important probably being that he was an engineer and that one of the workers occupied with one of his projects died. In her book Dianna said that he sometimes stared into space as if she wasn't there, and that the episode must have caused PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). He also had other problems like bipolar depression, but back then nobody talked about it, otherwise Dianna would have taken him to a hospital to have a psychiatrist evaluate him. It's true that things got better the last months of her second pregnancy and after Demi was born, but when the baby was eight months old, a little older than here in this story, the woman says that the screaming and ridiculing had started up again, even if I don’t know when.  
4\. Dianna, Demi and Dallas always got along really well. I wanted to put this type of detail in the story. Moreover, both in the documentary and the book it's clear they all bottled up their problems. Now, I don't know if they talked about what happened at home back then or if they were referring to future years when they did say it. In any case, the answer of the little girl who says she was okay seemed coherent with everything they said. Dianna also wrote that if she ever figured out how much the stuff going on at home was affecting her daughters, then she would have acted accordingly.  
5\. Four-month-old babies can hold little toys in their hands and often put them in their mouth to feel their texture, and that's how they explore them. They can roll over and lie on their stomach, though obviously not all of them can, and hold their head up.  
6\. Dianna suffered, both with Demi, and especially with Madison, of post partum depression, and had dark thoughts, particularly with the younger one. I read that in the book.


End file.
